


Me & Mr. Competent

by BanhTM



Series: When Time Stands Still [7]
Category: Pocket Monsters SPECIAL | Pokemon Adventures, Pocket Monsters: Diamond & Pearl & Platinum | Pokemon Diamond Pearl Platinum Versions
Genre: Canalave City, Canalave Library, Children's Stories, College, Gen, Local kid hangs out with college students and picks up bad habits, Strong Language, University, When Time Stands Still
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-03-13
Updated: 2021-03-18
Packaged: 2021-03-20 19:00:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 3,914
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30009465
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BanhTM/pseuds/BanhTM
Summary: After leaving his hometown, Cyrus ends up on the other side of Sinnoh.Follows Recollection XIII.
Series: When Time Stands Still [7]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1623643
Comments: 18
Kudos: 5





	1. Collections I

They call him Mr. Competent.

I always see them in the city library. Him and his two friends. They would occupy a table and talk in loud hushes. Moreso the other two. Mr. Competent seldom raises his voice.

An upperclassman, he is. Top of his graduating year. Reserved, polite, elegant like a fairytale prince lost in the modern world. I attribute all I know about him to the fangirls' constant gossiping in the hallways. Given how fast rumors spread, I think the entire university knows who he is by now.

Still, he's just like any other adult. I keep my distance. Speak only when spoken too. I know of him and he doesn't know I exist. A healthy relationship.

"Ugh, I don't get this at all! How does the professor expect us to pass if it's a cumulative exam?!"

"Shh. Daisy, we're in the library—" 

"Daisy is right! It's also not fair that the class is at 8 in the morning! I'll fall asleep during the exam!"

"Bill, focus—"

"Always such a worrywart, Mr. Competent! We're not getting any studying done, so let's go grab some cheese scallops!" 

"Daisy is right!"

"But it's 9:43 in the evening…"

They are very loud. No consideration of the other patrons in the library. A librarian has to politely tell them to shut up. They leave as loudly as they arrived, with Mr. Competent pushing his friends out before they're banned permanently from the library. 

Finally, they are gone. Silence. I gladly return to my book.

This library has the vastest collection of books in all of Sinnoh. Not only books, but ancient tomes, archived newspapers, and a collection of private letters belonging to the most influential families in the region… the venerable Berlitz household included.

The book in my possession speaks of Sinnoh mythology. Once upon a time, it was common to have interspecies romance between Pokemon and human.

Huh. I have mixed feelings on that. On one hand, it's taboo if you're approaching cross-species marriage with a modern lens. How would the offspring survive? Would they be readily accepted into society?

But on the other hand, both sides were happy. When the universe began, there was no strife. Anyone could choose their partners, and everyone lived happily ever after.

Then out of nowhere, I am reminded of the Lopunny fanatics. The Gardevoir extremists. The questionable humans who would love nothing more than to be intimate with those specific Pokemon.

And I shudder and immediately shove these nasty, vile thoughts out of my head.

Ultimately, I enlighten myself with the sparse myth of the Time Gears until it's closing time, and the librarian politely kicks me out.


	2. Collections II

After leaving my hometown, I managed to snag a part-time job on the other side of the world.

Canalave University's Facilities Management department. To maintain campus spaces, clean up for visiting donors, provide miscellaneous custodial services.

The pay is mediocre. But it keeps me busy. 

This is _exactly_ what I wanted to do with my PhD. Putting that 96-page dissertation to good use by scraping gum off the undersides of desks.

Am I bitter? Oh no, holding grudges is not sustainable in the long run. Rage is fuel, but it corrodes the machine. I am merely disillusioned. All that damn effort dumped down the drain…

Nonetheless, I need money. Complaining won't get me anywhere.

At the start of my shift, I visit the unoccupied classrooms. Come dusk, most students are already home… wherever that may be.

Often my work is light. Other days I have to mop up grimy footprints, wipe the suspicious stains off the ceiling, and properly dispose of the half-smoked cannabis joints lurking behind the lockers. 

Today, there is a swamp of litter under the desks. There must've been a party in here. _Fantastic._ You'd expect more from college students in the most prestigious public university in all of Sinnoh… but then again, _I_ was a student once, at this very institution. Aren't I a walking hypocrite.

Grumbling as I work, I hear the door swinging open.

"You're not walking back to the apartments with us?"

"I, er, think I left my pencil in here. You go back with Bill first, Daisy. I'll see you tomorrow."

From under this chair, I glimpse the afternoon light dancing off his wavy violet hair. A pleasant smile on his face as he waves to his friends.

But as soon as the door closes, the smile wilts, and in its place are teeth gnashing on lips. The transformation is so jarring that my ears go cold. His eyes, usually crinkled and soft, are now glinting like jagged obsidian behind those tinted glasses.

I shouldn't linger here. But he's blocking the only exit. And he's not budging.

Mr. Competent pulls out his bulky phone. Drags a hand through his hair while he awaits an answer from the other side.

"Please pick up," he mumbles. "You can't just spring that bullshit on me and expect me to be okay with it…"

While he fidgets with his collar, I remain motionless in my hiding spot. This is so scandalous. I am witnessing this very competent adult act like a distraught child lost in the supermarket. It goes against everything I've heard about him.

He shouldn't be acting like this.

"Damn, why aren't you picking up? Did you really go all the way to Johto just to see him…?"

Suddenly, something tickles my nostrils. Chalk dust. Dammit. I cover my nose with my sleeves, but I fail to account my hitting my head against the desk when I sneeze. And holy hell is that loud.

Mr. Competent stiffens. Our gazes connect.

_Great._ Give yourself a round of applause, Cyrus. Once again, you've messed up big time.

"I didn't hear anything!" I blurt. "See, under this chair there's a punctured contrace…"

Mr. Competent scowls, his knuckles turning white from clutching the phone. My stomach sinks.

"S-Sorry," I mutter.

As I fumble for my cleaning supplies, he keeps glaring at me. I drop my gaze and dash out the door, cursing my luck the entire way out.


	3. Collections III

Sleep doesn't come easy anymore.

Each night, I am tossing and turning. Alternating my attention from the wooden beams up above, the iron shelves, the assorted bleach containers, the broom wedged in the corner, the set of keys dangling from the hooks… By my second night in Canalave, I have memorized the minute details of this little broom closet.

My brain grows restless come sundown. When I close my eyes, I see memories I'd rather forget. I relive that dark and stormy night. I relive every damn second of my stupid mistakes… and just like back then, I just stood there and watched it unfold.

That's where my Pokemon come in. Long, suffocating nights with Golbat or Magikarp pressed against my bosom wards off the encroaching shadows. Their gentle heartbeats and loud snoring calm the screaming in my mind. Just the fact that they're there… that they're _real_ , means everything in the world to me.

As per my uneasy slumber, the slightest of sounds is enough to shatter any notions of sleep. I sit up in my cot, my breath hitching in my throat. Slowly, carefully, I ease the door open.

Peering into the darkened corridor, I glimpse… nothing out of the ordinary. No footprints marring the shiny floor. A distant clock reads 2:43.

What was that sound? Normally everyone should be in bed by now. No one is signed up for the graveyard shift. Was that all in my head?

Yet I hear it again: that ominous, ghostly cry echoing from somewhere in the moonlit darkness.

Spirits do exist. As do nightmares conjured in the mind. Grabbing a flashlight and a broom for self-defense, I creep down the hallway. There is no one around. Just me. And my erratic shadow.

That mysterious voice lies beyond the door to the men's restroom. At this unholy hour, I can only imagine what I will find. Do I get paid enough for this? No, but it's not like I'll be sleeping soundly any time soon.

All right. My hand closes over the knob. You can do this, Cyrus. And with all the courage I can muster, I push the door in, welcoming the cold, stale radiance.

Oh. That's…

"Mom, please think about this carefully. You've only known him for half a year! People change once you think you know them—No, I'm not criticizing your reason to move to Johto to be with him—Mom, please let me finish speaking."

Again and again, he gets interrupted by the agitated voice from the other end of the line. Mr. Competent is pacing the bathroom, his loafers wearing down the tiles I just polished.

"That man has a family," he says tiredly. "I know they're separated, but still… I don't think I'm ready to have a stepbrother…

"I'm in my last year, Mom. Can it wait until I graduate? Afterwards, I can spend more time with you at home…"

A heavy silence trails his last statement. Mr. Competent pinches his nose bridge.

"All right, Mom. You're busy, I know. Please pick up when I call you again tomorrow. Good night."

After the call ends, he stares at the phone for a good while before pocketing in.

Then he turns to me. And I freeze because I was too engrossed in eavesdropping to actually mind my own damn business.

"What?" he barks. "Did you follow me to dig up dirt for your stupid gossip column? I hate punks like you, spreading baseless rumors about me because I 'try too hard.' Why are you doing this? Does it make you happy bringing other people down?"

I wince from his poisonous glare. "N-No, sir, I…" My chest is constricting. I despise confrontation, especially with adults. They're always right…

No. Cyrus, calm down. You've come so far to concede. He doesn't know that you're deathly scared of his wrath. And he _won't_ know, _will_ he?

Alas, I steady myself with a deep, ammonia-filled breath. I maintain eye contact as I unlock the cabinet and set down a box of tissues on the table.

"What are you playing at?" he hisses.

"You seem distraught." I try my best to keep my voice firm. "These facial tissues are infused with aloe vera, so they won't irritate the skin upon application."

"Are you belittling me?"

"Your nose is running. Sir."

The adult stops cold. He reaches for the shimmering trail on his lips… then flies to the mirror, where he balks at the sight of watery light around his eyes.

"I'm sorry," I mutter as I retreat to the door. "I won't tell anyone."

Before the adult can react, I sprint down the quiet corridor, round a corner, and dive into the safety of my broom closet where I break into cold sweat when I bury myself under my blanket.

That was mortifying. It was so _wrong_ to see an adult be upset like that. Even more unsettling to see him so distraught that he was on the verge of tears.


	4. Collections IV

Since I'm usually awake throughout the night, I rise as soon as my internal clock strikes sunrise. Then it's off to one of the bathrooms on the upper floors in the farthest building from the main campus. Those ones are lesser used.

In the sunlight-dappled bathroom, I select the farthest sink and brush my teeth. An adult—faculty, usually—walks in and does the same. It's not uncommon for people to cleanse themselves in the bathrooms before the first classes of the day begin. Because no one wants to make small talk with a stranger, we leave each other be.

After I make myself presentable, I hurry to the Student Activities Center. To my chagrin, there's already a line for the food closet. It's not even 8 yet. And there's _a lot_ of people. 

Nonetheless, I manage to nab a carton of milk for my Pokemon. Golbat will gladly eat anything, but Murkrow is pickier. Magikarp… Do fish even drink milk? _Can_ they? Is it ethical to feed my fish fluids that came from a Miltank?

If Pokemon can talk, I'd ask my Magikarp: "Will you die if I feed you milk?" And it'll reply with, "Cyrus, what's wrong with you? Stop talking to fish and mingle with your species like a normal human."

But talking with people is _… difficult._ They judge me with both dismissive words and silent appraisals. I have nothing to contribute to the conversation. I look weird, and my presence will just make others uncomfortable.

Since my shift doesn’t start until later, I take my Pokemon out for some fresh air. Due to its location near the sea, the air quality for Canalave is better for the lungs. Just not near the docks, where there's too much ship exhaust. Closer to home, the cobblestone streets are mostly free of litter; the famous canals shimmer under the translucent sunlight.

Sometimes, I want to send a postcard to my grandfather. Show him how far I've come from home.

After my Pokemon frolic to their hearts' content, we rest under the bridge. While Golbat feasts on a dead Bibarel, I dilute the milk with water to make it easier on my Magikarp's stomach.

"Can you even drink milk?" I mutter.

Magikarp regards me with those dazed, beady eyes. It's a no thoughts, head empty sort of Pokemon. What a carefree existence.

Something hard and sharp bounces off my skull. I wipe the blood off my forehead and glare at the growling Murkrow.

"Misbehaving won't earn you food," I snap.

A shard of glass lacerates my temple.

"No means no."

An angry squawk, and I am slapped with soggy fishbones. I ignore that ill-tempered beast and focus on tipping the carton over Magikarp's fleshy lips.

"How is it?" I say.

Magikarp sneezes. Well. Should I be concerned right now?

With a heavy groan, I then push the milk carton to Murkrow, who slurps up the contents… and spits a mouthful into my face.

"Why are you so vindictive?" I murmur as I rub the milk stains off my jacket. "Look at Magikarp and Golbat. They are respectful. Where did I go wrong with you?"

That earns me a Drill Peck to the navel.

Cranky Murkrow aside, I squat down next to Golbat, who favors me with a bloody grin.

"That Bibarel is bone-dry," I grunt.

Indeed, all that remains is a carcass of bones and fur. All the organs have been harvested, the veins plucked, the blubber slurped up like noodles.

It's impressive… in a weirdly grotesque way.

Golbat licks me with its slimy, blood-slicked, flesh-and-cartilage-and-whatever-else-it-ate-coated tongue. I barely resist the urge to pass out, instead offering a weak smile in case it decides to eat me next.

Out of everyone here, Golbat has grown the most. When I left that city bathed in sunlight, it was a tiny Zubat that fit easily in my rucksack. One day, it emitted a bright light and changed into this void of a stomach. Now it stands to my chest. And its appetite is out of control.

What prompted that unprecedented transformation? I didn't use it to battle; I just walked around with it. Is that how Pokemon grow up? Out of the blue? Will Murkrow and Magikarp grow up like that too?

Suddenly, I feel like throwing up. Considering my Pokemons' futures has left a gaping hole in my stomach. While I only want them to become stronger, I'm afraid of how their attitudes towards me will change. Right now, I can provide them food and shelter. Once they're able to fend for themselves, will I be irrelevant?

Those heavy thoughts are shattered once Golbat wobbles excitedly to me. I recognize that sparkle in its eyes.

"You're _still_ hungry?" I mutter.

Well… what will happen is still far away. Right now, I should focus on providing for my Pokemon. Appreciate their company while I can.

So I roll up my sleeves and present my wrist to the ravenous bat, who gladly sinks its fangs into my veins. While it feeds, I scratch it behind the ears—its favorite spot. Magikarp swims up to me, and I clean its whiskers. For that spiteful, attention-deprived crow, I allow it to sit on my lap.

It's so peaceful here. Me and my Pokemon, sitting under a bridge in the city of canals. The sun is shining; the skies are blue… live music wafts from a square somewhere nearby… Perfect time for a nap.

Alas, feeding time is over. I have to get ready for work.

Yet when I emerge from the shade of the bridge, I feel deathly ill. The sun is too bright. The ground below me warbles like I'm dancing on a capsizing ship. And there's this high-pitch wailing in my ears.

Ah. Well. Seems like Golbat took a _tad_ more blood than yesterday.

I drag myself up the levitating cobblestone path. Along the way, I pass a seafood shack. The grilled, buttered Cloysters smell so damn good, but I gnash my teeth and push forward. Somewhere in my daze, I feel a sharp pair of eyes on my back.

"Bill, Daisy, you go ahead and order. I'll be right back."

And the next thing I know, this enlarged ball of purple yarn blocks my path.

"Do you remember me?" he says.

"Of course," I grumble. "Mr. Competent."

"Y-Yes… I suppose. Anyhow, about that other day..."

Then his tone changes. "Are you all right?"

He is really grating on my splitting headache. "I promise that I won't tell anyone."

"You're very pale. Do you need to visit the clinic?"

"I’M FINE!" I snarl. "PARDON! ME!"

I manage to lose that stubborn adult in a passing crowd. Emerging into a shady alleyway, my knees finally buckle.

"I'm fine," I hiss when my Pokemon begin nudging me. "Just… give me a second. I need to catch my breath."

Then something sparkles in the extremities of my vision, accompanied by the harps of heaven. There, shrouded by a beam of sunlight, is half a sandwich. Greying tomatoes. Furry cheese. A slab of speckled meat.

"Foooood," moans my stomach.

But I swallow my saliva. While I'm not above nabbing food from the rubbish heap, I'd rather treat myself to something warm. Like soup fresh out of the pot. Steaming rice gruel garnished with a handful of pepper.

Then chills seize my heart. Danger is imminent. My Golbat…is leering at me.

Oh no.

"I'm not hungry!" I blurt, hurriedly backing away. "Y-You heard wrong, Golbat. That was… the wind! Yes, the wind shimmied through the alley—"

But Golbat has pinned me down with its powerful wings. I watch in horror as it leans over me, as its serpentine tongue reaches back to activate its gag reflex…

"NO!" I gasp. "Golbat, stop! Murkrow, do something!"

My Murkrow, who I've raised as a wee bird after it was separated from its family, gleefully props my jaws open for Golbat to regurgitate a waterfall of blood.

Ah. Is it wrong to say that this isn’t my first time swallowing bloody vomit? It certainly is well past my tenth time consuming that vile, nauseating shit. Today's lunch is blended with mashed Bibarel gizzards and an unknown Pokemon's entrails.

Well… I'm not hungry anymore. In fact, I'm good until next month.


	5. Collections V

There is a large public library situated in the northwestern corner of Canalave City. When the sun rises, the sea-burnished tiles glimmer like the gills on a rainbow fish.

Unlike my broom closet, it's warmer there. Come sunset, the winds blow in from the sea, bringing a dreadful chill to the land. It's a coldness that permeates bone.

Fortunately, there are powerful heaters in the library. And that's where I am, watching the skies darken in the comforts of warmth. In addition, it's very bright here: a golden, buttery radiance. This place has everything that appeals to me, so much so that I have claimed my own corner near the bookshelves in the children's section.

Tonight, I have my blanket and a book. Opening its worn, crumpled pages, I breathe in the smell of old paper. Smells so well-lived in. Many small hands have held its contents.

Like the loser that I am, I begin reading to myself.

"In an old house in Lumiose that was covered with vines, lived twelve little girls in two straight lines…"

I sneeze. Oh, these illustrations are simply delightful. With a few lines, anything can be created. The monochrome color scheme of this tale invokes a poignant, innocent feel to it. A happy ending awaits me at the end, I know it.

"One night, the minder awoke in fright with the thought that something was not right. The youngest girl was crying and she wasn't lying so the doctor kept trying. So in a car with a red light, they fled into the snowy night.

"The youngest girl, her appendix had ruptured. They waited too long, now her insides had festered. The eleven other girls waited in vain, for the disease had reached their friend's brain…

"And that's all there is. There isn't anything more."

I needed five minutes to fully absorb the fact that this book belongs in the _children's section._ Oh well. It's never too early to be exposed to the harsh realities of life. The sooner they learn, the better they'll cope.

No one lives forever.

As I place the book back, a chill taps my heart. A pair of eyes are pressing on my head. Glaring at me.

And when I turn back, my heart sinks to my stomach.

"Were you reading to yourself?" says Mr. Competent.

Ah. This doesn't look good at all. How long has he been standing there? Was he staring at me the entire time? He must think that I'm fucking crazy.

When I fail to reply, he backtracks. "You look better today. Yesterday, I almost mistook you for a corpse."

Still, words fail to leave my throat. Instead, I glare at him so he can take the fucking hint and leave.

He presses on. "I always see you in the library."

And my hopes of remaining invisible are dashed once and for all.

"I see you too," I hiss through gritted teeth. "At that table. With your _friends._ Speaking of which, it's not polite to keep them waiting."

"I'm here by myself."

_Great._ I have to get rid of him somehow… should I sic Golbat on him? No no, that ravenous bat would suck him dry. And he doesn't look like he'll survive its feeding.

"What year are you?" he says.

"I graduated. Sir."

"From which high school?"

"From college. I have a PhD in civil engineering."

The adult gawks at me. Like they all do when I show them my diploma. In all actuality, I should be _furious_ that I slaved away my precious years for an expensive piece of paper just for _no one_ to take my accomplishments seriously.

But I've grown used to it. After all, there's nothing I can do to change people's perceptions of me.

"How old are you?"

I tell him. From how his eyebrows pierce his nose bridge, I'm guessing he thinks that I'm a little shit who enjoys messing with grownups.

My assumptions are confirmed when Mr. Competent shakes his head and walks off.

Oh well. It does sting that an adult now views me as a liar. But hey. I only told him the truth.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> References "Madeline" (1939) by Ludwig Bemelmans


End file.
